"Aasta? The werewolf?"
At the same moment he loosed his grip of the sword, and the weapon,
impelled by the force his arm had given it, flew from his hand, and
falling upon the slippery ice skated along for many yards, making a
noise like the chirping of a vast flock of finches.
Kenric stepped back yet further and stood ready to meet the wolf, and,
if need were, grapple with it. But the animal, startled at the sound
made by the sliding sword, ran off towards the shore and quickly
disappeared among the shadows of the trees.
What was the meaning of that wolf being there upon the ice? Kenric stood
in confused wonderment. And if, as he half supposed, this white-breasted
animal was not as other wolves, which fear to tread on ice -- if it was
in very truth the werewolf form which the wild Aasta had power to
assume, why had she not recognized him? Why had she run away? Was it
that she had now taken to the cover of the woods, that she might
presently reappear in her own maidenly figure? There was something in
all this that passed his understanding.
He followed a few paces in the direction taken by the wolf, then,
remembering his sword, he turned aside. He looked about upon the clear
icy surface for his weapon. The force that his arm had given it had sent
it far away towards the margin of the mere, to the same spot, indeed,
where the werewolf had first been seen.
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